Rat Patrol: The Birthday Boys Raid
by Syl
Summary: Sgt. Jack Moffitt and Pvt. Tully Pettigrew each try to surprise the other on his birthday.


**Summary:** Moffitt and Tully each try to surprise the other on his birthday. Answer to Birthday Challenge at RatPatrolWriters

**Disclaimer**: _The Rat Patrol _and all related characters belong to Mirisch-Rich Productions, Tom Gries Productions, and United Artists Television; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback--the positive and negative kind--is welcome and encouraged.

Copyright: March 2006

* * *

**The Birthday Boys Raid**

**By Syl Francis**

Moffitt and Tully worked for a month to outdo each other. When they discovered that their birthdays fell within a week of one another's, each separately decided to surprise his friend. For the celebration he planned, Moffitt wrote his father, asking he send a bottle of vintage French wine from the family wine cellar for Tully. Tully meanwhile had his father send over a jug of the finest Kentucky moonshine this side of the Cumberland Gap.

Tully figured that Moffitt's refined taste and sensibilities needed a good shake-up, and there was nothing on God's green earth that came close to medicinal qualities of one swig from his daddy's finest brew. Tully knew it was just the catalyst to help the proper Englishman let his hair down. Besides, wasn't Moffitt an anthropologist? Wasn't he dedicated to learning all about different people and their culture?

"It's my Christian duty," Tully told Hitch with disingenuous piety, "to help educate the Sarge on my family's backwoods culture."

"You mean, it's your funeral," Hitch said with a shake of his head.

Smiling, Tully said with quiet confidence, "It'll be a birthday the Sarge ain't gonna soon forget."

For his part, Moffitt felt that Tully's education was sorely lacking in the enjoyment of some of the finer things in life. Knowing that his taciturn driver came from a somewhat disadvantaged background, Moffitt had been a bit diffident at first talking to him about archeological artifacts found in the area, unusual geographical formations, and such.

Much to his amazed delight, Tully was not only interested in these subjects, he even borrowed and read a book on archeology written by Moffitt's father. Grinning, Moffitt knew that with that one simple gesture, Tully had totally disarmed him. Of course, when Tully sided with him against Troy the time Moffitt wanted to rescue his father, and against orders ventured out on his own, Tully made no move to stop him. With this act above all others, the Kentuckian had sealed Moffitt's unconditional loyalty.

Thinking of the rare vintage that had arrived in that day's mail, Moffitt felt confident that this birthday was going to be a memorable one for his friend.

As luck would have it, on the eve of the big event, the Rat Patrol was dispatched on a mission to blow up yet another ammo dump.

Tully sighed. "Just once I'd like to see the air force take out one of these things."

"Wouldn't help really," Moffitt said, scowling. "The way they seem to multiply out here, one would almost think they were part rabbit."

"Yeah, well…some birthday." Tully shrugged into his field jacket and headed for the jeep.

"Lousy break, Moffitt," Troy said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "I'll see what I can do to make it up to the both of you."

Not bothering to reply, Moffitt climbed into the waiting jeep, signaled Troy that they were ready to roll, and nodded to Tully to move out.

Although unhappy over the turn of events, neither Moffitt nor Tully was ready to give up with his planned surprise. While Moffitt had been inside the HQ tent receiving the mission brief, Tully tucked the brown jug in the jeep among his personal effects. Likewise, as soon as Moffitt heard that they would be moving out on a mission, he packed the wine bottle in his kit bag and carefully stowed it in the jeep.

Both intended to surprise the other at the end of the latest mission. Luckily, because Tully was not inclined to speak much during their long desert crossings, Moffitt did not suspect him of any subterfuge. Similarly, because Moffitt rarely initiated conversations with his rather laconic driver, Tully was satisfied that his senior partner was solely concentrating on his maps, the shifting desert terrain and getting them all to their destination….

For once, their latest demolitions mission went off like clockwork. While Moffitt set the explosives, Tully stood watch with the 50-caliber machinegun, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. As an additional security measure, Hitch and Troy ran a five-mile perimeter sweep for any stray enemy convoys.

Finished setting the charges, Moffitt signaled Tully and ran the wire to the jeep, paying out extra line as he did so. He jumped on the driver's side and carefully backed the vehicle. Reaching the maximum length of the wire, he stopped the jeep, jumped out, and set the detonator on the ground. Saying a small prayer, he slammed the plunger. The demolitions went off in as beautiful a display of pyrotechnics as he had seen during a Guy Fawkes Day celebration.

"Better than a Fourth of July fireworks display, Sarge!" Tully called. Grinning, Moffitt gave a thumb's up as he hurriedly collected the equipment and stowed it away.

Jumping in the driver's seat, Tully put the jeep in gear and they took off. Believing that they were home free, they were surprised by a German column. Before the two veteran Rats realized what was happening, a lucky hit from an enemy halftrack struck their jeep. The light vehicle overturned, and the two men were thrown clear. Recovering quickly, Moffitt crawled toward Tully and dragged the stunned soldier behind the jeep. Tully shook his head to clear it, but was otherwise unharmed. Miraculously, both men had escaped serious injury.

Machinegun fire from the halftrack effectively pinned them down behind the overturned jeep. Moffitt found his Thompson and returned fire. Tully recovered an ammo box filled with grenades and lobbed a couple. Their efforts fell shy of the mark, frustrated by the angle they were in.

The situation deteriorated rapidly as the enemy rounds pierced the jeep's thin metal skin. Reaching for the radio, Moffitt ducked as it suddenly sputtered and sparked from a direct hit. Tully then pointed at the gas tank. It had been ruptured by a stray bullet and was rapidly leaking fuel. If the enemy machinegun scored a hit there, they would both be goners.

Scanning the location for any signs of cover, Moffitt saw there was nothing for at least a hundred feet. It would be suicide to attempt a run for it. The high-pitched whine of a round just missing his head told him that staying in place was just as unhealthy.

"Some birthday, eh, Sarge?"

"What's the matter, Tully?" Moffitt asked. "Don't you like surprise birthday parties?"

"Not when I'm the piñata," Tully muttered.

Beginning to think that this was it, they were happily surprised at hearing the distinctive sound of a Browning 50-caliber machinegun just as the other half of the Rat Patrol flew over the nearest dune. As the jeep sped toward their rescue, two back-to-back explosions going off in the German convoy told Moffitt that Troy had just scored with two grenades.

"Now that's my idea of a surprise birthday party!" Tully yelled, thumping Moffitt on the back.

"With that arm, we could've used Troy on our cricket team!" Moffitt shouted.

"Cricket? You mean baseball, don't you?"

"Cambridge doesn't have a baseball team."

Tully rolled his eyes.

Hitch slowed down enough for Moffitt and Tully to scramble onboard and roared off, whisking them all away to safety.

"Just like the American cinema," Moffitt yelled. "The cavalry arrived in the nick of time!"

"What kind of party would it be, Sarge," Hitch yelled over the engine, "if we let you and Tully have all the fun?"

* * *

As the jeep disappeared over the nearest dunes, Dietrich stepped out of his vehicle, opting against pursuit. There would be other days, other battles. He walked around the overturned jeep, inspecting it for anything worth salvaging. It was a total loss.

About to return to his vehicle, he spotted a kit bag with "Sgt. Jack Moffitt" dutifully stamped on it. Curious, he bent down and inspected the spilled contents: a spare uniform, underwear, socks, and toiletries, the usual articles that a professional soldier in the field carried with him. Shrugging, he was turning away, when his eye caught a glint in the sun.

Reaching inside the kit bag, he pulled out an unopened bottle of wine. Checking the label, he whistled in appreciation. The French vintage had not been in public circulation since prior to the Crash of '29.

"I wonder what the good English sergeant was doing with it?" Grinning, Dietrich shrugged. "No matter…spoils of war." Tucking it under his arm, he headed back to the convoy, ordering his men to return to their vehicles.

Unknown to Dietrich, Private Manfred had also spotted a duffel bag with its contents spilled. Hearing his CO's order to return, Manfred was about to comply, when a shiny "something" caught his eye. Pulling the object out from under the confusion of socks and uniforms, Manfred suddenly smiled.

* * *

Back at their base camp, Moffitt and Tully each put up a brave front and toasted the other's birthday with a bottle of cheap wine. They were on their fourth bottle, and by now were thoroughly drunk. Unsteadily pouring them each another shot full of "…Whatever rotgut that passes for wine in this joint," Tully just managed not to knock over any of their drinks in the process. Solemnly, he and Moffitt raised their glasses and downed the contents in a single gulp.

Simultaneously, they made a face at the bitter taste.

"The bartender should be shot for this--concoction," Moffitt growled. "Immediately." Somehow he managed to enunciate his words clearly, distinctly. Only someone who knew him would know that he was indeed drunk.

"But, first, Sarge--" Tully interrupted, his words slurred. "--first, he's gotta be forced drink some of this poison."

Moffitt shook his head sadly. Leaning in close, he put his arm around Tully's shoulder and spoke as if bestowing words of great wisdom. "No, my friend. I'm afraid that would be against the Geneva Convention." At Tully's look of bemusement, Moffitt nodded sagely. "Oh, indeed. 'Twould be 'cruel and unusual punishment.'"

He poured them yet another drink, spilling half the contents. He looked questioningly at Troy and Hitch. At the shake of their heads, he shrugged and turned back to Tully. "So, you see, my good friend…immediate execution would be considered the fastest, most humane form of punishment."

Tully gave a decisive nod. However, the next instant, he looked ready to burst into tears. "I'm sure sorry about your birthday present, Sarge. My pappy made it from his special recipe…just for you. Even aged it underground an extra two weeks, so's it would be good and cured--some of the smoothest Kentucky moonshine."

Moffitt nodded humbly. "And I appreciate the time and sentiment that went into it, Tully. I'm afraid I, too, am sorely disappointed over the sad fate of your gift. That vintage has not seen light of day from Father's wine cellar for more than twenty years." Each man stared glumly into his drink.

"This has been just about the worst birthday of my life," Tully mumbled.

"Amen," Moffitt said fervently.

Troy and Hitch shared an amused look. The two birthday boys had been going on in a similar vein for the better part of the night. Troy decided that it was high time he broke the news to them.

"You know what the problem with you two is?" At their blank looks, Troy continued. "You both put a lot of trust in your dads to come through for you." He paused, nodding at Hitch who reached under the table and pulled out a box. "Hitch, here, had sense enough to put his faith in his mom."

Without further word, Hitch opened the box, revealing a festively decorated birthday cake. Moffitt and Tully stared at the cake and together read the words written on it:

_Happy Birthday, Jack and Tully! Love, Mom_.

"Hitch…I don't know what say." Moffitt looked overwhelmed.

"Yeah, buddy," Tully choked. "Thanks."

"You're both welcome," Hitch said with a smile. "And happy birthday!"

"Oh, I have something for you, too," Troy said, reaching into his pocket. He doled out a set of orders to each member of the Rat Patrol, taking the last one for himself. "Consider it a party favor."

Moffitt scowled at him, looking at the official military letterhead with distaste. "I'm overwhelmed by your generosity, Troy…" he began, his voice trailing off as he read the contents. "A four day pass in Cairo?" Moffitt's eyes were wide with shock.

Tully slapped him on the back. "Hey, Sarge! This birthday is finally starting to look up…!"

* * *

Back at the German base camp, Manfred was taking an experimental a swig of the Kentucky moonshine, while his friends eagerly looked on. He choked, nearly spewing the contents, but managed to painfully gulp the brew.

"Well, what does it taste like, Manfred?" one of the onlookers asked impatiently.

Feeling the effects of the homemade liquor immediately, Manfred collapsed in place as his legs gave out from under him. Smiling, he croaked, "Tha's smooth!"

* * *

Meanwhile, in his quarters Dietrich poured a generous helping of Moffitt's wine. Inadvertently, his thoughts went back to April of '39 and his last birthday at home. It had been a day of laughter, music, and family. He sighed as he thought of them: His father's booming laugh, his sister's sweet smile, his mother's gentle touch.

Abruptly, Dietrich forced his thoughts back to the present and the war. He wondered how his family was doing--if they were safe, if they were getting enough to eat. He thought of the high cost of the war his country was waging--both in lives and resources. When he had embarked on this great adventure, he had been so certain of the rightness of Germany's cause.

Now, he could only think of all the lives that had been tragically, even needlessly lost. He reflected on the men who would never see their homeland again, dead and buried in this desolate hellhole. He wondered if he would live to celebrate another birthday with his family again.

Sighing, he lifted the glass and murmured a quiet toast to himself.

"Happy birthday, Hans."

The End


End file.
